we were nothing, we were everything
by marcasite
Summary: She hadn't understood that this was simply one job. That they weren't really a team but artists crafted together to build one moment and were free  to move onto the next.
1. Chapter 1

It's been over a year since the Fischer job and she finds that she misses them (him, who is she kidding) all unbearably.

* * *

She's not sure what she expected after LA, but she recognizes that deep inside she had hoped to be asked to stay, to belong to something again. As a little girl, her parents hadn't understood her nor did they really try to. Too focused on their own lives, they had thought it best to send her away; to the best schools in the world naturally.

It was at Saint George in Switzerland that she learned to speak French and how much she loved to smoke. It was at Francis Holland in London where she learned how much the boys loved her French; it was at ISA Saint Luc Wallonia in Belgium that she understood that how much her travels have shaped her. She would spend hours walking through the cities of Europe, gazing with respect at the architecture around her. Some of the buildings were ugly, undeniably. But some of them, some of them were works of art to be gloried at. She marveled at infrastructures and imagination on display. She started to understand that these old buildings made her feel at home, something she had thought she was missing.

But it was in a warehouse in Paris where she found her calling.

She fell in love with the life presented her, with the people, with the fantasy of it all. In a matter of weeks, she adopted Eames as her confidant and brother she never had. He became the one she shared her past with, the one who knew the secrets to keeping one's sanity while going to school abroad, the one who understood her secret desire to belong. She would spend hours listening to his (mostly farfetched) stories of his narrow escapes and liaisons with beautiful woman. He made her laugh with his wit, his charm and she swore that he was better than any sibling she could have had.

She fell a little bit into adoration with him and the security he represented to her.

Yusuf was the quiet one but he always was there prepared to offer her praise on her work or questions if he was doubtful. He kept to himself but never failed to stop what he was doing if she had questions or was curious about what he was working on. She started to bring him coffee every morning on her way in as a way of thanking him for his quiet friendship.

She never really found a way to make friends easily and was grateful for his quiet acceptance.

Ariadne spent the bulk of her time being concerned about Dom. She recognized the desperation and loneliness that surrounded him. Maybe that was why she was drawn to him and his dreams. She understood that, as the leader of this makeshift crew, he was the one that had to explain the job to her; to teach her. But his dreams terrified her and the guilt he carried with him permeated everything. She saw him as a sort of father figure missing from her life and she was determined to do what she could to help him. It's why she took it upon herself to keep pushing him, pushing into his dreams and looking for the root cause of his despair.

She had never learned caution or boundaries with other people.

Arthur was the one that intrigued her the most. She ended up spending an in ornate amount of time with him in the beginning. She found herself attracted to his loyalty and sense of purpose. She quickly came to realize that THIS was his calling, that this is what (who) he was. She couldn't imagine him doing anything else. She started to look forward to their shared dreams and the time she spent with him. He always held himself back, kept a little bit of himself away from her (away from everyone really) and she was amused at the way Eames would try and goad him. It was fun to watch Arthur get a little bit annoyed and the banter between them was enjoyable to watch.

She started to crave Arthur's attention and realized she had moved on from attraction and was heading into more dangerous territories.

* * *

The job was difficult and emotionally draining but when it was over, when they landed in LA and deplaned, she felt the exhilaration rush through her. This is what she was meant for; this is what her childhood had prepared her for.

But it wasn't as simple as that.

She hadn't understood that this was simply one job. That they weren't really a team but artists crafted together to build one moment and were free to move onto the next. It wasn't until she was standing outside at the taxi stand, Eames off to her right; Arthur somewhere to her left, that she saw the note tucked discreetly in the corner of her bag.

_A-_

_Great job. You'll find that your account has been wired the pre-agreed salary. Wish you a safe flight home and good luck with your studies._

_A_

She felt the tears start before she could stop them (silly really, what had she thought would happen). The only thing she understood is that once again, she wasn't wanted (least of all by him). She hastily wiped away the tears before anyone could see them and glanced to her right. Eames gave her a sad half-smile and slowly raised his hand in a gentle wave. She nodded quickly and raised her hand to hail a cab.

When the cab stopped for her, she slid into the back seat as quickly as she could; not realizing her scarf had come loose. In her haste to leave, she abandoned the scarf that had settled at Arthur's feet. He bent over to collect it, his eyes never leaving her as he watched her cab drive away.

Where to?

She laughed out loud at the question and wondered what her next move would be.

Would you be terribly upset if I ask you to take me up to departures?

She had not looked back at Arthur once.

tbc.


	2. Chapter 2

_I swore that this was only going to be two parts but then when I finished it, it was over 4500 words and I thought it better broken. It's complete but I broke it here and won't wait another week to post the last bit. Thank you to Kara for the beta!_

_

* * *

_It's been over a year since the Fischer job and she thinks she's ready to get back in the game.

The moments after she entered the taxi hung in her memory as a distinct blur. She had to over tip the cabbie, apologizing over and over for the short trip up from Arrivals to Departures. Stumbling to the British Airways counter, she had been dismayed to learn that the only flight to Charles De Gaulle wasn't leaving until later than evening and she would have to fly through Heathrow. Booking the flight, she killed the day eating and making plans for her return.

She hadn't understood why the sense of urgency was there, but she just knew that time was important. She had to get back to Paris and then get out of there as quickly as she could. She didn't question the fierce need to hurry, (go, go, go) pushing her to get back to Paris. She just knew that it was important that she get there, and then get gone just as quickly.

Exhausted, she had made her way to the warehouse they had used as their base of operations, the place that she had started to think of as home. She pushed back the threat of tears as she glanced through the sweeping room, taking in the strewn chairs, coffee mugs and disarray of papers. Already, it had the tinge of abandonment and a shade of loneliness to it. God, had it only been less than forty-eight hours since she had last stood here?

Moving quickly, she grabbed an empty box from a corner and started to move her belongings from the table she had worked at into the box. Scarves, pencils, sketch books and a chipped coffee mug all went in the box, rapidly filling up. It was when she picked up the last sketch book that she noticed another note peeking out from the corner. Dreading the contents of this note, she gathered her breath and let it out on an exhale when she realized it was from Eames.

It contained a phone number, an email address and an address in London. Sorry and Emergency were the only other words written.

She almost broke down then.

* * *

She hadn't wanted Arthur to find her (which was silly considering A, he probably wasn't looking for her and B, that was kind of what he did) so she had only stayed in her flat in Paris for a few days. Just enough time to drop out of the rest of her classes and find a place in London to stay. She was paranoid enough that she bought a roundtrip Eurostar ticket to London and back. Though she had no intention of returning to Paris in the near future, she had wanted to give the impression (not that anyone was looking) that she was coming back.

In London, she sort of drifted. She had more money than she could spend and she wasn't really the shopping spree kind of girl. Her desire for school had waned after LA and for the first time in her life, felt unthethered to anything. She realized that she had not a single connection to anything (or anyone) that mattered to her. Not with school, not with her parents, nothing and no one. It was a little bit unsettling and she reached into her pocket to clutch Eames's note, the way she might have held her totem in weeks earlier.

A few months later, she gathered her courage and sent Eames a quick email from a café on Brick Lane. She wrote to let him know that she appreciated the contact information and that she wouldn't bother him (often). She also let him know that she was fine and that she missed him (the fact that she missed Arthur was unspoken but she knew he would read the words). She let him assume that she was in Paris.

It was several weeks before she heard back from him; he had been on a job in Cairo, only just now getting back. He told her that he had worked with Yusuf again and that he was glad to be home. She figured Dom was out of the game for good, she had seen his face when he cleared customs, so she was curious who he was working with. But she didn't ask and he hadn't offered.

They wrote occasionally, with days and weeks passing without any word from the other. They settled into a casual friendship; she told him about being hired to do freelance drawings for an architecture firm (he had moaned at the waste of talent) and he told her that he was off to Ireland for another job (she laughed at him, knowing he preferred someplace just a bit warmer). He never once mentioned that he had worked with Arthur recently on a job in New York and again, she never asked.

It was easier for her that way.

* * *

Eames stood up from his chair, almost knocking it over in his haste. Arthur glanced his way simply because the movement had caught his eye, but just as quickly, turned away from the forger. They were back in Paris; another mark that needed Eames special talent. It wasn't that Arthur didn't like Eames; he just hated how quickly the forger could get under his skin. He knew just which buttons to press to cause him annoyance and being back in Paris reminded him of things (or was it someone) he wanted to forget.

He was ready to start this job, the quicker they started the sooner he could leave this city behind.

"I'm off, having dinner with a mate." Eames grabbed his coat, which had been draped alongside the back of his chair.

Arthur looked at his watch, "It's two. Aren't you a bit early for dinner?"

Eames smiled like the Cheshire cat and Arthur knew, just knew, he was in trouble. "Yeah, she's in London tonight and I need to look good for her. Plus, I don't want to miss the rail over."

Ariadne.

Arthur sucked in his breath, letting it out slowly. "You've kept in touch?" He clenched his fist under the table waiting for the other man's answer.

"Yeah, she's traveling; doing bits of this and that. She's in London tonight; our schedules seem to mesh a bit."

Arthur knew Eames was baiting him, purposely being vague about how much he really knew. He wanted nothing more than to reach over and beat the information out of him but he knew that's what Eames wanted. So, he shrugged his shoulders and turned back to his work, eyes seeing nothing.

"Maybe we could ask her for this one? We could use a good architect." Eames kept pushing.

"She not just good and you know it." Arthur rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension from them. "We're fine, we don't need her. We'll call Jackson."

Eames all but rolled his eyes but decided to let it go. He hoped it had been enough since honestly; he was tired of the two of them.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

_I could've waited but I figured why not post it. Thanks to those that have read it and thank you to Kara for the beta and for everyone who's left a comment or read this!_

* * *

Darkness blanketed the city with a cool breeze accompanying it. She had forgotten how stark the landscape became in the throes of winter. The days dwindled into night faster than she cared for and she soon found herself longing for the warmth of the sun on her skin.

Was it possible to feel so alone and yet be surrounded by people every day?

She felt a hand touch her arm, calling her back from her musings. She looked into blue eyes, the vivid blue eyes of her dinner companion. "Where were you, Ari?"

She had the grace to blush and dipped her head to one side. "Here. Sorry this weather makes me a bit melancholy for the warmth of summer. Funny how you crave one thing and when you finally have it, you realize how much you miss what you had."

Eames leaned back on his chair, "Why do I think we are no longer talking about the weather?"

"I just miss Paris. More than I thought possible."

"Why did you end up here, Ari? And I am not convinced it's Paris that you miss." His eyes drilled into her, she felt slightly cornered.

"Honestly, I'm not sure." She shrugged. "It felt like the right idea at the time. After LA…after, I just had to move on."

"What is it that you really want?" He leaned closer, "Because I get the 'who' part."

"You know," she drawled, "I don't think I am interested in having this conversation."

He just looked at her. "I don't want to pry but clearly you're not happy here." He waved a hand at her as she started to respond. "I mean beyond the sketching which we all know you could do without even opening your eyes. I think you miss the job, all the possibilities that were there. Never mind the fact, that we're having dinner together and you're a million miles away, love. I'll start to take it personal soon considering I haven't seen you in over a year."

She sighed, "No, just two hundred miles away. You're right, Eames. I thought I made friends in Paris, I thought I had a life there. But I wanted more and thought that's what you guys were offering."

He just nodded at her, hoping she would continue. "I was wrong. And yes, I might've been attracted to Arthur."

His name hung there and Eames smiled slowly.

"Why don't you reach out to him to see if there may be a job?"

She threw back her head and laughed. It was a solid laugh and it felt good. "You're kidding, right?" She shook her head, "I would love, love to work with you again but I was foolish, naïve in thinking that we were a team. That we would go from job to job together. After that letter, it was clear that my services were no longer needed."

Eames looked at her, eyes dancing, "Did you stop and think that maybe that was his defense mechanism?"

She sobered up at his tone, "I like to think at the beginning we were on the same page. I thought there might have been something between us, once."

"But not anymore?"

"I was wrong." She smiled widely at him, shrugging her shoulders. "Perhaps I think that he might have found me, had he been looking hard enough."

Eames looked at her, "Do you know how beautiful you are when you smile? You don't smile nearly enough, Ariadne."

She looked down at the table and started to twist her napkin. "Thanks. You really are a flirt."

"Not flirting, just honest. I'm not going to push you, love. I want your friendship and more than anything; your trust." He waved the waiter over to pay the bill. "Do what you need but you should be happier."

She waited while Eames helped her into her coat, and on the ride home she thought about everything they said. She faced the fact that she was lonely. Complete and utterly alone. Why did she think she could leave behind the few things that she loved? Where would she end up? If she could do it, would she take back all those months working on the Fischer job and do anything differently? She knew better than that. She would have done it all over again, exactly the same.

She realized with a start that they were outside her flat. Eames was moving around the car to open the door. She clasped his extended hand and he shut the door behind her. He held her elbow lightly as he accompanied her to the door. A light mist had started to fall and Eames lightly brushed her hair off her face. He placed the flat of his palm against her cheek and leaned down to kiss her other cheek. "Darling, you have to do what will make you the happiest. Whatever you do, let me be there for you. In whatever capacity you need me to be."

She just smiled up at him, those blue, blue eyes. "Thank you. You have no idea what that means to me."

She hesitated, and then made up her mind. "Would you like to come up?"

"Wondering why it took you so long to ask."

Eames followed her as she made her way through the door, closing it gently behind him.

* * *

Neither one of them saw the solitary figure standing on the corner, the streetlamp silhouetting his profile.

Standing outside her flat and watching Eames follow her in, Arthur felt something twist inside his stomach. Disgusted with himself, he shook his head and wondered how he ended up here (not that voyeurism wasn't something he hadn't perfected over the years; hadn't he been trained to gather the details?).

Sighing, he ran his hand over his face to wipe away the bit of mist and pondered his next move. What he wanted to do was to see Ariadne (after he killed Eames, of course), wanted to know what she has been doing for the past year. He tried to follow her, to make sure she was fine but when he had returned to Paris from the Fischer job, all of her belongings had been cleared out. He had been surprised to see the warehouse stripped of everything that was Ariadne. It was as if she hadn't existed at all. When he checked at her flat, her landlord had intercepted him. He had found out that the rent was paid and that he had been told she was taking a vacation. So he had moved on, assuming she would be back and he would reach out to her later. Much later.

But she never came back.

Oh, he had seen the look on her face when she had read the note. He did what he thought was right, the easiest way to let her get back to a 'normal' life and not be tied into this life. What he hadn't expected was the hurt and sorrow that had washed over her face. He was taken aback with regret at the way his words might have hurt her and wanted to explain to her (he wasn't ready to deal with why he cared so much). But she was gone and hadn't show up at any of the hotels in the surrounding area (yes, he checked).

There was some regret in the way he had quickly eliminated her as both a potential colleague and friend. He had wanted to make it clear that they weren't a _team_, just players in a dangerous tournament. His attraction to her happened quickly and it terrified him, so much that he was thinking of all the possible dangers. Dangers, not only to himself but to her. He had seen what love had done to Dom and Mal; he was determined to avoid that at all costs.

But he couldn't hide from the truth of her smile, the way her eyes would dance when she laughed and her joy in what she did. It was infectious and he wanted more of it. He had written that note over twenty times, trying to find the right way of explaining things to her. Frustrated, he had written the final note the way he would have written any other. Terse and to the point.

He just hadn't expected her reaction and something inside him cringed at the thought that he had hurt her.

Shaking his head, he glanced up to look one last time at the flat before he left for Paris. He was surprised to see Eames closing the door and turning up his collar before departing in the opposite direction. Glancing at his watch, Arthur noticed that barely ten minutes have passed.

Why was he leaving?

* * *

She was so tired.

Eames was wonderful company and a balm to her fractured soul. He made her laugh effortlessly and never wanted anything more than she could give. But sometimes he was exhausting simply because he could always see through her regardless of how much she tried to hide her pain. She kicked off her shoes and flung herself down on the couch, after he had made his exit. The big debate now was red or white.

The door buzzed, startled her slightly and she let out a groan. She was too tired for this. Pushing herself up off the couch, she padded over to the speaker, "Eames, how about we talk about it next time, ok?"

"Ariadne."

She took a step back, hand falling to her side. Arthur. His voice still haunts her dreams and her nightmares. It had shocked her into complete silence. She pulled herself together and returned to the speaker, "On the left." Not that he probably didn't know by now.

She took off her coat; slung it over the couch and when she heard the soft knock on her door she approached it with trepidation. Opening it slowly, she smiled at him, "Arthur." She turned and made her way into the kitchen, she was definitely having that glass of wine. She pulled out two glasses and indicated the bottle. Arthur shook his head, "No."

She just shrugged and poured the wine for herself. "So what brings you here?"

Arthur leaned against the wall and shook his head. "I don't know."

"Typical answer, Arthur. You should work on that." Ari moved into the living room and Arthur trailed after her. She indicated that he was welcome to sit, "You must have a place in London and it'll be silly of me to ask how you found me."

Arthur stared at her, finding himself a little caught off balance. He wasn't sure what he expected from her, but he did know he hadn't expected this casual greeting and relaxed attitude. She welcomed him into her home without much after thought and that surprised him.

"I was planning on heading back tonight." She just stared at him, so he cleared his throat and continued. "Actually, I came because there may be a job if you're interested."

It was a lie and they both knew it. That wasn't why he was really here.

"I wondered if there may be a day you would seek me out for a job." She raised her eyes to his, not hiding the hurt that darkened them.

"I tried to find you in LA and again back in Paris but it was pretty clear you didn't want to be found."

She sipped her wine, "Why Arthur? Why would you work so hard to find me _after_ you made it pretty clear I wasn't welcome?" She placed the glass on the coffee table, "Maybe I am making more of this than I should. I just thought there might be something between us."

Arthur watched her, weighing his words carefully. Everything he did was measured, thought out and it was frustrating. She wanted to grab his shirt and shake him out of his comfort zone.

"You know what, don't bother. This isn't going to get us anywhere. I thought there was something, you didn't. I got hurt, let's move on." She drained the last of the wine in the glass and made a movement to replenish the glass.

His hand brushed against hers to stay her, "There was something. There. Between us."

The words were uttered so quietly, she almost missed them. She waited.

"I don't really know why I came here, but know that I was sorry, am sorry…" he trailed off, looking everywhere but at her.

She leaned closer to him, "Why are you sorry? Sorry about that note, about the way you ended things before they began?" She needed him to be clear, needed him to say it.

"Sorry that I wasted this past year. I'm not sure about this or us but I'm sorry that I might have thrown the possibility away." Arthur stood up, holding her hand tighter.

Ari leaned into his frame, hovering slightly. She brought her hand to rest on the back of his neck, allowing it to wander into his damp hair. She wasn't really touching him but could feel his chest rising up and down, inhaling around her.

"You look…" he trailed off and she stood there inhaling the scent of him, all wool and so male. He was making her slightly dizzy. "I look what?"

"Amazing. I've tried to pretend but I've missed you this past year. I see architecture and think, 'that's beautiful' and then I think 'Ariadne would make something that much more beautiful'." He pulled on her arms, dragging her closer, arms sliding around her ribcage. "I think these things all the time."

His mouth was hot, spicy and tasted of wine and she had never tasted anything this good. His tongue teased hers and the kiss deepened into something more profound. She pulled back and stared at him. He leaned his forehead down to hers, "I never meant to hurt you but I thought that would be the best way to tell you. I don't think Dom really let you know how dangerous this…us…is. "

She pulled back, gently and retraced her steps to the kitchen. He followed after her and watched as she poured herself another glass of wine. She didn't look at him but downed the glass in one gulp. "I'm not leaving and I don't think I am taking this…job. What did you think I was doing inside Fischer's mind? Getting a massage? I get how dangerous it is, I saw how dangerous it was. My parents don't even have the right to treat me like a child; you think I am going to let you?"

He couldn't help himself, "Why did you keep in touch with Eames?"

"Because he made it easy for me." She added, wryly. "His note had an email address and even a phone number."

Arthur's eyes narrowed as he stared at her, "Don't think that he cares that deeply for you."

She laughed softly, "That, my friend, sounds like jealousy. Eames and I know where we stand, I never doubted him."

He didn't answer her, nor did she expect one. The implication hung there between them.

Sighing, she reached across the counter and touched his arm, "I think, we've said enough tonight."

She started to pull her hand away but his hand reached out and grazed her shoulder, then slid oh so-slowly down her arm. The soft material of her blouse clung to her skin as his fingers swept downward, over her bicep and forearm. His warm skin caressed her wrist a moment before his fingers skimmed over her palm and twined with hers. A gentle pull had her turning fully to him.

"Yes, I agree we've said enough tonight." He took one step forward and closed the gap between them. She scarcely had a moment to pull in a breath before his lips touched hers. A whisper of a kiss. So soft and warm and fleeting, she could have dreamed it. But then his mouth touched hers again and her eyelids fluttered closed. This was no dream.

Arthur's lips pressed to hers for only a heartbeat before they simultaneously opened their mouths. His tongue slipped past her teeth and swept over hers. His free hand cupped her cheek as his body melded to hers. Their clothes, the moist skin, the heat that arced between them did a wicked number on her insides. Her entire body went into sensory overload. His tongue delved deeper, teasing hers, tangling with it in a sensual dance that left her molten and damn near singed to the core.

Her fingers skimmed over his side, up his rib cage. She clasped a fistful of now-limp white cotton, literally clutching at him, holding him to her. His hand, in turn, moved from her face and plowed through her hair, his fingers burrowing deep in the long strands.

She heard a whimper of need lodge in her throat. He deepened the kiss. Their bodies were pressed together, yet she felt the insane desire to get closer to him. So much more so than she currently was. She longed for their clothes to melt away, wanting desperately to press her naked breasts to his warm skin. She wanted their limbs entwined, every inch of their bodies touching each other. She longed for this. Craved it.

She wanted more than this, really. As his kiss became more impassioned with every second that passed, she could think of nothing else but having him inside her. She wilted under his touch, her entire body seemingly liquefying. She could feel the tremble in her legs, a slight vibration that worked its way up to the apex where her sex throbbed in wicked beats.

The sounds and smells of the flat faded into non-existence. All thoughts, save for the truly erotic ones, receded into the far recesses of her mind. All that registered was the feel of his lips on hers, the tantalizing sweep of his tongue, the warmth and strength of his fingers as they remained twined with hers, the heat and sensuality that engulfed her.

What should have been a friendly kiss, even a quick parting kiss, turned into something so sensuous; Ariadne lost all touch with reality.

This was how she'd dreamed of being kissed by him. This was the kind of passionate, erotic, fully engaging kiss that she'd longed for. Arthur delivered it with such skill, such intimacy; she wondered how she'd live until their next kiss. It was that fabulous. That… perfect.

As he gently pulled away, she knew she should have bemoaned the loss. Her entire being felt the connection being broken as he moved away from her. But it really hadn't been broken. Even as he stepped back, his fingers releasing hers, his hand slipping from her hair, she felt an innate bond. It was erotically powerful, yet heartwarming.

"Ariadne, ask me to stay." His voice was low, edges rough.

She pulled back and stared at him, looked into his eyes to gauge him. She placed a hand on the side of his face, "No. But if you're serious, if you really care, you'll want to find a way to work this through."

His eyes clouded with frustration but he stepped back, running a hand through his (usually immaculate) hair, ruffling the clean lines. He turned and grabbed his coat, weighing his words carefully.

"Around the corner from the Maison D'Asie is a small brick building. You'll know it when you see it. Do you think you can be there tomorrow? We seem to be in need of an Architect."

* * *

The brick building was exactly where he said it would be. When she entered the room, the first person she saw was Eames, lounging with his feet propped up. When he saw her, he smiled and glanced over to where Arthur sat, studying his notes.

She exhaled loudly, a feeling of contentment settling over her. When he looked up at her, she swore she could see the tension ease out of his shoulders. She threw her coat towards Eames with a smile and moved to sit next to Arthur.

He reached a hand out to run it quickly over hers before returning his attention back to his notebook.

It was like coming home.


End file.
